


You Can't Always Get What You Want

by Roar_Ra



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Guilty Dean, M/M, Prostitution
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-29
Updated: 2015-05-21
Packaged: 2018-03-26 09:44:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,863
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3846226
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Roar_Ra/pseuds/Roar_Ra
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The tall teen stares at Sam for a moment, "Damn, I'm gonna get even cuter when I grow up."  Dean winces - says a quick hail mary on the kid's behalf.</p><p>Sam's nostrils flare.  Danger Will Robinson.  DANGER.</p><p>The younger man turns back to Dean.  "You should tell him how you feel.  He probably wouldn't make you pay."</p><p>Fuck.  Never mind, NO one is getting out of this unscathed.</p><p>You know that saying you trust someone as far as you could throw them?  Dean realizes with a half-mad chuckle that Sam could trust himself about half the length of a parking lot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. You Can't Always Get What You Want

You Can’t Always Get What You Want

Rating NC-17

 

 

Dean’s pissed. Really pissed.

Anger ignited by his little brother almost getting himself killed on their last mission, further fueled by the mark on his arm, then compounded by the whiskey sitting empty in front of the half drunk beer in his hand.

How dare he? How dare that fucking kid put his life on the line like that? And for WHAT?!?

Didn’t Sam know the self-sacrificing, throw yourself in harms way crap was Dean’s job? How dare his idiot little brother horn in on Dean’s particular level of stupidity!?!?

Dean glowers at his beer. The bartender knows better than to even try and flirt when Dean’s in ‘one of his moods’.

It’s as close to a ‘local bar’ as Dean will admit to having. Close enough to the bunker for easy access, but not close enough to give away their position, with a crap motel attached so Dean can stagger next door and not have to sleep in his baby on cold nights. Plus, there’s a solid selection of rock music, which seems to play 24/7, right now the Stones are telling him about getting what you need.

He sees a large form out of the corner of his eye, long dark hair almost brushing oversized shoulders, leaning over the pool table, laughing as he misses a shot, playing at being tipsy, obviously targeting a mark…

Dean sees red.

Sam knows better than to follow him here – this is HIS bar – where Dean goes to blow off steam when he’s pissed at his little brother. No Sasquatches Allowed.

Sam fucking knows better than to hustle pool at Dean’s bar.

Definitely knows better than to lean into the blond frat guy he’s playing.

Absolutely knows better than to let some stranger’s hand work across his ass…

Dean’s across the room with a stranger’s blood covering his knuckles before he takes his next breath. The bartender just rolls her eyes as blondie flees the building, she knows Dean will be good for the fleeing man's tab.

"Goddammit, Sam, what the hell is going on, what are you doing here?”

Eyes look up from the mop of stupid shaggy hair.

Oh shit.

Same fox eyes, same high cheekbones same build and coloring… but this kid looks like he can't vote, let alone be in this bar.

"What the fuck man?"

The voice is wrong, too high to be Sam, even in his teen years.

"Shit, sorry, I thought you were..." Dean quickly tries to regain his composure, going on the offensive. He pulls the fake FBI badge from his jacket. "Let me see your ID, kid."

The kid even has the same 'bitchface' Sam pulls when he's feeling picked on. "Come on man, doesn't the FBI have better things to do than hassle a guy for getting a date. I'm just trying to make a living here."

Dean's eyebrows reach his hairline in surprise. The kid's a professional.

Hazel eyes twinkle in merriment as he sees the stunned expression on the older mans face. "Well since you just scared off my next week's rent, at least you could buy a guy a drink."

Dean's still staring, trying to comprehend what he's seeing. He stumbles back, hitting the bar with a thud. The waitress comes by and Dean orders the rounds without thinking.

The younger man smiles. "So… judging by your little white knight/pissed off stalker routine back there, I'm going to hazard a guess - Sam is your partner?"

Dean makes a face. "NO! No way, Dude I'm not gay-"

A laugh interrupts his denial. "Your FBI partner dumbass. I'm guessing he looks a bit like this lovely packaging." He waggles his eyebrows for emphasis.

Dean finds himself staring at the kid’s lips – jesus Christ even the lips are right but the voice is definitely wrong, too high, too unworried. The voice of a guy who’s never had blood on his hands. The smile too carefree, despite the guys vocation, he’s still a civilian, an innocent. Dean often wishes he could give Sam that innocence back.

"Uh, yeah… I… That is…" Dean hasn't been this tongue tied since junior high.

The waitress places two shots and beers before them and Dean grabs his like a drowning man would a life preserver. He downs the shot quickly and the boy does the same. The kid gestures to the waitress for another round, and Dean tries not to be pathetically grateful as the next shot is laid down.

The kid raises the shot glass. "To your boy Sam, may he be having a better night than that frat boy who’s face you just rearranged."

Dean raises the glass in return and they throw them back without wincing.

"So you and this Sam guy, does he know?"

Dean blinks, uncomprehending. Distracted by the way the whiskey has lowered this timber of the kids voice, it’s still not Sammy level of sexy rough, but closer.

"Come on man, it's obvious you freaked out when you thought your partner was getting groped by a guy… I'm thinking you're closer than just co workers…"

Dean makes a choked sound. "No! I told you, it's not like that."

A huffed mocking sound. "Whatever you say buddy, I'm an expert at reading folks, you've got to be in this business, and I'm saying you've got issues, that's all."

Dean scowls and turns to leave, how dare this fucking kid dare to presume he'd ever THINK about-

A surprisingly firm grip spins him around and suddenly lips slam into his.

Dean should punch this brat, he should shove him away, he should-

The mouth opens against his and there's a low moan Dean realizes is coming from him as overlarge hands hold his head in place under the assault. God this is wrong, Dean shouldn't be letting his hands travel over that too small t-shirt, tracing the abs that the universe seemed to think only should be possessed by Greek gods, Sam, and this presumptions fucking kid.

Would Sam taste like this, feel like this?

Dean breaks away gasping and the kid leers in triumph.

"Yeah, sure, I can see you have no issues with this guy at all…" He rolls his eyes as what Dean assumes is the scorn at Dean's closeted self loathing.

If only it were that simple. If only Dean could figure out how to explain it went beyond sexual, Sam was just… everything.

“We can go back to your place if you’d like… See how ‘not into your partner’ you really are…”

Dean realizes the whiskey has deepened the kid’s voice further, he now sounds like Sam as well. What the fucking hell, why is this making him hard, knowing that he could…

He shouldn't be tempted by this, but what if it’s just this once… what if he could know just once, just once how it would be to have Sam beneath him, even if it’s a lie. A cheap imitation.

Dean's just fucked up enough to think that perhaps, he could just get this the fuck out of his system it would go away, he’s be cured of his unhealthy obsession with his little brother. At least that's his excuse and he's sticking to it.

He's suddenly angry. Angry at Sam, angry and the kid and angry at the universe for playing such an awful cosmic joke on the entire Winchester line. Speak of which...

"How old are you, kid?"

"19."

"Where were you born?"

"Canada."

Dean does some quick mental arithmetic - Dean, Sam and John were in Mexico hunting an aztech priest that year, no way John could have… Okay, the kid's of age and not a Winchester. Thank god. It makes this two notches down from being the worst possible thing he could do… wait, don't' think that way, he can't possibly be considering…

“How long does your voice go low like that after you drink?”

“About an hour.” The large brow furrows. “You ask some weird question, man.”

Thank god, he won’t have to worry about giving the kid alcohol poisoning – no wait, he can’t possibly be considering, not really, just a fucked up fantas-

The waitress slinks back over and nods at the kid. "You've got another suitor over there, wants to buy you a drink."

With a nod of thanks the boy rises to leave. "Nice to meet you Mr. 'I don't have issues' - but I've got to go - If you ever change your mind my name's-"

"No." The harsh words interrupt torn unwillingly from Dean's throat. "Not tonight it's not." He get's out his wallet and crams a handful of hundreds into the oversized hands of his brother's clone. "Tonight your name is Sam, I call you Sammy. My name is Dean. And you're not taking any other tricks tonight."

Hazel eyes widen at the rough tone as well as the fistful of cash. "Okay."

 

Less than 15 minutes later and Dean has the kid shoved over the bed and moaning like it's his job (which it is).

Dean flushed with anger and lust as he smacks the kid’s bare ass.

“Don’t do that again Sam, never again!

I’m responsible for you, you don’t get to do that – quick being so fucking reckless.

You don’t get to die for ME.

I’m not worth it.

You’re everything, you don’t get to take that away.”

The rage is back

“Everything Sammy, I've done everything for YOU, not that you appreciate it… you get so mad at me every time I save you.”

"I'm sorry."

"You'll be sorry alright. You are my entire world Sammy, every piece of me is yours, you take it… and then you hate me for it." The snarl follows fingers roughly opening the kid as he puts on a condom (despite being mostly out of his head, Dean has never been a complete moron.)

"Now it my turn, baby boy." He lines up behind the beautiful ass in front of him. "You’re mine." With a complete and brutal thrust he's inside a stranger wearing his brother's face, he doesn't know if this is the best or worst thing he's ever experienced. "sonofabitch."

"Yes, Dean. Yours, always have been.”

This kid is reading him like a book; knows what he want to hear, how to give it to him in the whiskey deep of his voice and the roll of his hips as Dean fucks with restraint.

"Thant's right. Your mine Sammy, you're always going to be mine. I don't give a shit if heaven or hell think otherwise, angels and demons can all go fuck themselves."

If the kid is (completely reasonably) confused by the words, he gives no sign.

"Tell me Sammy, fucking tell me."

"I'm yours, all yours Dean."

Say it.

The kid grunts trying to find the right words. "I'm YOURS."

“SAY IT!” Dean is practically screaming as he approaches the edge.

Suddenly the kid understands, hears the heartbreak in the scream and knows what he needs to hear. It breaks a heart the kid wasn’t even sure he had anymore. He bends a personal rule, and tells the broken man desperately fucking him what he needs to hear.

"I love you." The words are barely a whisper.

"Louder, Sam. Make me believe it."

"I love you!"

"Fuck - one more time… please Sammy..."

"I LOVE YOU DEAN!"

Dean comes with an anguished howl.

As he looks into Sam's hazel eyes.

The real Sam.

His little brother, silhouetted in the doorway, watching them.

Sam's handled some of the grisliest crime scenes without batting an eye. Now he looks like he's going to be sick; because of this crime scene.

The scene of Dean's crime.

Shock, confusion, agony, then anger cross Sam's face, until he seems to settle on rage… Sam is shaking with it. "Get out."

The kid doesn't need to be told twice, he's already halfway dressed not even bothering to put on his shoes. He does however, bother to grab the cash on the nightstand.

Sam watches his doppelganger grab the money with a wince, heartbreak and horror warring for dominance.

The kid is at the door, and Dean let's out a silent sigh of relief, at least one this fucked up trio is getting out of this night in one piece, physically if not psychologically.

The tall teen stares at Sam for a moment, "Damn, I'm gonna get even cuter when I grow up!"

Dean winces - says a quick hail mary on the kid's behalf.

Sam's nostrils flare. Danger Will Robinson. DANGER.

The younger man turns back to Dean. "You should tell him how you feel. He probably wouldn't make you pay."

Fuck. Never mind, NO one is getting out of this unscathed.

You know that saying you trust someone as far as you could throw them? Dean realizes with a half-mad chuckle that would be about half the length of a parking lot.  
__

to be concluded....


	2. You Can’t Always Get What You Want (Part 2)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Sam catches his brother banging a prostitute who looks like his underage clone… He handles it, justifiably poorly.
> 
>  
> 
> A lamp goes sailing across the room into a mirror. "I just caught you fucking an underage whore who could be my clone, Dean! I'm reasonably allowed to be having a fucking meltdown right now!"
> 
> "It was an accident-"
> 
> "What, did you trip and fall dick first on a hooker who looks an underage version of me?!?!" The almost hysterical shriek makes Dean wince. "You know Dean, every time I think you've screwed me over in every possible way, you come up with some new and inventive methods."

You Can’t Always Get What You Want (Part 2)

In which Sam catches his brother banging a prostitute who looks like his underage clone… he handles it, justifiably poorly.

 

Sam turns on Dean, it's like facing an enraged bull. No strike that. An enraged bull would be much, much preferable to the murderous intent he sees in his little brother’s expression.

Dean manages to grab a towel and backs away towards the bathroom. "Sam, I'm gonna go-"

The taller man strides across the room places himself between Dean and his retreat path. "You are going exactly nowhere." Sam’s eyes shine with angry tears. He looks completely wrecked.

"Sam, calm down."

A lamp goes sailing across the room into a mirror. "I just caught you fucking an underage whore who could be my clone, Dean! I'm reasonably allowed to be having a fucking meltdown right now!"

"It was an accident-"

"What, did you trip and land dick first on a hooker who looks an underage version of me?!?!" The almost hysterical shriek makes Dean wince. "You know Dean, every time I think you've screwed me over in every possible way, you come up with some new and inventive methods."

"It didn't mean anyt-"

The words are cut off as Sam slams Dean against the wall, forearm bracing against his neck.

"Shut up. Dean for once you are going to fucking listen." The words are hot and angry against his cheek. "You did mean something, something so horrible I don’t think you even understand… how wrong… how used…”

There’s a broken sob and Dean isn’t sure which of them it comes from.

“You didn't hire that kid for sex. Not really. Paying for it is about power - you wanted control… control over me. You wanted a version of me that couldn’t say no. You didn’t even think about how you'd be violating me… again… you never do. You make decisions about my life, my time, my destiny, my soul - and it's still not enough. You needed my body too, a blow up doll version of me. You incredible jerk."

"Sam, I'm so sorry-"

"I love you, you arrogant bastard and this is how you repay me. By sleeping with a kid wearing my face who would tell you what you want to hear. Paying him to tell you he was YOURS, that he LOVED YOU?" He buries his face against Dean’s shoulder for a moment. "Jesus, Dean, he didn’t even look like he’d graduated high school…"

Dean feels his hackles rising trying to ignore the feel of Sam against the crook of his neck. "Well, Sam, there were really a dozen models to choose from at the bar tonight, I was waffling between the 'pre-stanford' model, or 'RoboSam' - who really was more ripped… but decided I was in more of a twink mood."

Where the fuck did those terrible words come from, defensive and sneering. Dean defaults to anger and humor when he's trapped. When he knows he's wrong.

The fist to his jaw is completely expected and deserved. Dean does not resist, he's earned this. Looks down at the floor and waits for the next punch.

Lips slam angrily down on his and Dean's eyes shoot up in confusion and panic.

Large hands grab his wrists, slamming them to the wall above him. Punishing, demanding, dominating.

“Is that what you wanted? A blow up doll with a pulse?” Another brutal, soul crushing kiss. “Too bad Dean, the doll has taken your money and gone, you’re getting me, the real me.”

Dean looks up at his brother, broken, confused and turned on beyond measure.

“No, Sam. You don’t want… it’s why… because I knew you’d never…” Obviously Sam’s kisses have some sort of terrible truth serum/brain shortening supernatural properties.

Sam sneers down at him. “You know what the worst part is, ten years ago I would have done it. I would have bent over for you in a heartbeat and thought it was a wet dream come true. Even after Stanford, I would have done gone to my knees in an instant.”

How can he do this? How can Sam make every word feel like a punch to the gut? How can he make every bruise he’s digging into Dean’s flesh feel like a kiss?

“But not anymore. Not now.”

“You don't get to have control. I'll follow your orders on the job, I'll follow you into hell, but right here, right now you're MINE.”

Sam’s kisses are desperate, needy, and breaking Dean apart with every gasp and growl.

“You don’t love me Sammy, not like this. You can’t want this-“

“You presume to know my feelings? You incredible ass. In what possible world could I NOT love you?”

Sam’s lips slam back down as he begins working on dean’s belt.

“You were my everything. Mother, father, brother, friend, my goddamn soul mate… how could I possibly not want you as a lover? It was a foregone conclusion, written into my DNA since before I had a choice.”

Pop of button on Dean’s jeans like a gunshot against the hotel walls.

“Another choice taken from me.”

Sam suddenly rips the shirt over Dean’s head, pushing him onto the bed.

“Do you know why I loved Jess so much, why I was so incredibly devoted to her, to avenging her memory?”

Dean shakes his head, as much to avoid thinking about Sam’s lover as to deny his understanding.

“Do you know why it killed me so much to learn that she was a pawn just like everything else in my life, a way to keep me on a path to becoming Lucifer’s meat suit?”

“It’s because I thought she was MINE, MY CHOICE. I thought she was the first thing I’d ever managed to choose on my own terms, my love, my lover – and at the end of the day, it was still a LIE!”

Dean feels the beginning of understanding bloom.

“Do you know what a safeword is?”

What the fuck? Dean is taken aback by his brother’s sudden change of topic, but can barely suppress an eye roll, how vanilla does Sammy think he is? He nods shortly.

“Did that kid have one?”

Dean flushes as he realizes it never came up.

“We weren’t doing anything that rough-“

A swift slap leaves Dean’s ears ringing. What the fuck?

“Wrong answer, you were roleplaying with a fucking prostitute, what if you’d gone to far – you were telling him he COULDN’T SAY NO! He was a whore Dean, but he deserved the respect of a FUCKING SAFEWORD.”

Why is Sam so angry about this? There’s something wrong, it’s tickling the back of Dean’s brain like a itch he can’t quite scratch, a scab.

“Pick a safeword, Dean.”

“I don’t need, I trust-“

“Pick a fucking safeword – I promise you Dean, you’ll need one.”

“I don’t-“

“No, Dean, not after what I walked in on. Not after all we’ve put each other through. I’m not going to go easy on you... But I won’t do anything truly against your will, either. So you pick a fucking safeword or I walk.”

Dean shakes his head, Sam’s bluffing he wouldn’t-

There’s an abrupt coldness as Sam’s body heat is abruptly gone. Rustle of fabric, then-

“Jefferson Starship!”

Dean can practically feel Sam’s look of triumph, as the fabric drops back to the ground, sound of a belt being pulled thru the loops. He looks up at his brother and nearly comes just looking at the heat in his gaze.

“Get on the bed. Hands and knees, just like he was.” Sam gives a laugh at his immediate obedience. “Good boy.” Dean flushes in shame at the way his cock fills in response to the praise.

“Yes, you like being a good boy, don’t you. You’ll learn to take exactly what I give you and love it, won’t you?”

Dean nods, unable to form words.

“It’s a lesson I became familiar with long ago.”

Another scratch, the nagging at the back of Dean’s brain.

“I always knew how much you loved me, Dean. Always anything for Sammy…”

The leather traces down neck to his lower back, making Dean shiver.

“But the thing is Dean, I never got credit, never wanted credit, never wanted you to know the things I’ve done for you, for this family…”

Sam kisses him, slowly, deeply, coaxing unwilling moans from his mouth.

“Started when I was 12, you know… After you got out of juvie, I knew you were in for stealing, I knew dad was punishing you for losing money… I knew funds were tight, but I never thought dad would take you away for not having enough money to feed me.”

What? Dean’s world starts to tilt on its axis. The scab, no please Sam, don’t pick at it…

“I told myself I’d never let dad take you from us again. Couldn’t let you go.”

Please Sam, let me have my scab, let me have my denial.

“It was a game at first, before you were sent away, just teasing touches, the bars we’d go to with dad, I’d smile and a waitress would make sure I had a dollar for the pinball games, perhaps sneak me some fries if I looked hungry. You remember, I was so tiny, all the women there doted on me like I was a doll…”

God help him, Dean did remember, remembered being jealous of the cheek pinches and sweet talk from those waitresses, the cokes Sammy never had to pay for, while at the ripe old age of 16, Dean was playing pool, earing his keep so he’d thought… oh god.

“The girls were sweet, but not good for much in way of funds, they just wanted to take care of me… But then, when I figured out we needed money… more that dad would understand or provide…. That’s when I discovered the men… now THEY wanted things, THEY were willing to pay.”

The scab is gone, wound open, bleeding, oozing sickness that’s been held back for decades, the sobs Dean was trying control come up like a sickness.

He want’s his safeword, he want’s his ignorance, he want’s desperately not to have-

“I’m sorry, go Sammy – I’m so sorry.”

Sam licks a tear from his cheek. “What, what are you sorry for, Dean?”

“I should have known, I should have prot-“

The sound of leather hitting flesh a moment before the agony of the belt against his ass.

“Wrong answer – or rather right answer, wrong reason.”

What could possibly be worse that that?

Another blow. “It wasn’t your fault, I did it for us, to protect this family just like all the things you’ve done a thousand times before… but they’ve been choices. I chose to go out in that first alley when I was 12, and I won’t apologize for it.”

A third blow had Dean seeing stars. “You know what wasn’t my choice – having you bring me back from the dead then knowing you were in hell, because of me – having an angel pull me unwillingly back into my body without a soul and screw up your happily ever after”

Never wanted it, Sammy. Your dream, not mine. Dean bites back the words.

The belt again.

“Dad, you, Meg, Lucifer, Castiel, some teenager in a bumfuck town and Becky fucking Rosen all think it’s a perfectly fine idea to fuck with my brain, my body, reach in and take away my free will, my CONSENT!”

Dean’s sobs are ugly now, realization blooming as ugly and vile as a corpse flower.

Consent, it was what Sam had always wanted and what had been taken from him. From before he’d been born thru Stanford and up till now, Sam had never had anything on his own terms except 2 weeks with Mr. Pibb, Funyons, and a dog named Bones.

“Then once more, when I was ready to die, WANTING to close the gates of hell. What do you do?”

Dean winces, expecting the pain.

Instead, a kiss, so gentle and broken it nearly destroys Dean. “You beg me not to, and I love you too much to say no. Then you whore me out to an angel and let me think I’m going crazy again.”

“So sorry, so sorry, Sammy.” The words pour from his mouth “I never understood, not really. I just...  loved you too much... too much to let you go.  I'm sorry.”

Sam places light kisses along the belt marks on his back and Dean’s cock throbs in response.

“I forgive you, Dean. I do. Now that you finally understand…” He approaches Dean’s face, allowing his brother to see the aching hardness.

“Please!” The words are nearly a sob. “Please let me Sam, let me show you how much...  how sorry.”

Sam caresses his brother’s head gently. “Yeah, baby. You’ve done so well, take what you want.”

Lack of experience is more than made up for in desperation and enthusiasm as Dean wets his lips and takes Sam in his mouth. Jesus, he’s fucking huge! Dean suddenly has more empathy for all of the girls who’ve done this for him, and some major sympathy for the ones who’ve done this to Sam.

His mouth waters as the hot hard slide of his brother’s cock slides across his tongue. Dean remembers one particularly mind blowing experience and tentatively flutters his tongue across the top of Sam’s cock, licking the slit and then pushing the massive flesh down his throat as far as he can without choking.

It seems to work because Sam is making feral noises combined with profanity and words of love that make Dean’s cock throb in response.

Dean could worship Sam’s cock all day, listen to the filthy litany fall from his brother’s lips (knew that big brain would come in handy for something fun eventually, little brother). But Sam seems to have other ideas.

“Jesus Christ you’re good at that. Gotta stop Dean, or I’m gonna come down your throat in a heartbeat.”

And suddenly Dean has to grab the base of his cock to stop the exact same thing from happening.

Dean whimpers in appreciation as Sam pulls him to his knees captures his mouth, working his way inside like he’s planning on memorizing every detail.

“You did good baby.” Oversized hands find his hips and flip him on to his back..

God, feeling so exposed, raw and intimate – seeing the open, naked approval, lust and love on his brother’s face… it’s almost too much, but instead, Dean’s back bows in pleasure as his brother’s hand gently but firmly begins stroking his painfully hard cock.

“Say it.” The strokes are ecstasy bordering on agony. Dean needs to come more than he needs his next breath.

“I’m yours!” Dean can barely form words, but the beautiful truth is spilled unthinking from his lips.

“Say it.”

Blunt slick (alarmingly large! But thank goodness his boy-scout brother managed to find lube somewhere) exquisite pressure at his entrance. Dean arches like a cat in heat at the feel.

“Say it, Dean.”

Just the tip teasing his entrance. Dean can no more hold back than he could stop the tide.

“I love you, Sammy.” Gentle, brutal thrust till his brother is balls deep in him. Dean can feel Sam’s cock all the way up to his fucking throat. “Yours, Sammy. I’m all yours.”

Sounds of triumph and agony torn from Sam’s throat as he pounds into Dean, ruthless, intent on his brother’s release. He doesn’t have to wait long, as Dean is making inhuman sounds along with his brother’s protestations of love. A few quick strokes of Sam’s oversized hands on his cock and he’s gone. The world is gone. Just his brother pulsing inside him, pounding him through his orgasm, milking it for more that Dean’s ever been able to give before. It’s just him and Sam, just the way it’s always been.

They lay together, a useless pile of fucked out flesh for minutes or hours. Emotions too high, too raw to try to give a name to.

Sam strokes the spiky mess of his brother’s hair and Dean give a (very manly and understandable) purr in response.

“Mine.”

Yes, Sammy. Always yours, forever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Authors Notes: Well, thanks for coming along on this weird, wild, kinky ride. This got darker than intended (originally didn’t have the ‘sam as underage prostitute part) but when the fic muse slaps me upside the head with the ‘wand of wrong’ I try not to ask too many questions.
> 
> Comments/kudos are love, and make you a better smarter, sweeter, and more awesome person.
> 
> BTW - Still looking for a beta if anyone knows one (insert puppy dog pleading here).

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, I'm back, had to post this before I lose my nerve - would still love to find a beta if anyone has any recommendations. Kudos make you prettier, and comments it 100% more likely you'll run into the boys in real life :)


End file.
